


Life's True Face is the Skull

by ValerieNoor



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-12
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-16 06:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28702074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValerieNoor/pseuds/ValerieNoor
Summary: Frank is less than pleased by his bandmates blowing off his big idea. But with plans for the reunion rapidly gaining speed, he's running out of ways to convince them that he's right.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Life's True Face is the Skull

**Author's Note:**

> Following the release of 'An Offering', the fandom was hopping with the rumour that Frank was under one of those masks. I wasn't totally convinced, but something kept jogging my memory - I was sure I'd seen it before. 
> 
> An only slightly stalkerish level of digging turned up the photo in question (Franks Instagram, April 2019 https://imgur.com/ba2q2mm) and the fic basically wrote itself from there.
> 
> Title is a quote from the Greek writer Nikos Kazantzakis

They’re all sat in Ray’s studio, staring at Gerard’s Big Book Of Ideas (in Frank’s brain, it always has Capitals) and deciding what they like, and what is too weird even by their standards. Mikey’s just flatly refused to even contemplate anything unicorn related when Frank has an idea.

It’s perfect, he can see immediately how it will work and why, and best of all, no one can object to it on the grounds of plagiarism (‘I think Pete already cornered the market in furry costumes’), relevance (‘yeah, but Pacific Rim was a while ago’) and personal trauma (‘way too 2004. That haircut is staying in the past for a reason, dude). So naturally it goes down like a lead balloon. Which is not unusual in a band full of big personalities but it still pisses Frank off.

"Skulls?" Gerard says doubtfully.

"I dunno man." Mikey shakes his head. "I think we've played that one out."

"How can skulls be played out?" Frank scoffs. "They're fucking timeless!"

"I liked the Gundam robot concept," Ray says wistfully, and is ignored.

"I was thinking something more esoteric, myself," Gerard says, digging through his sketch book. "I was thinking around resurrection, you know? And the whole phantom thing..."

"Phantoms have skulls!"

"How the fuck can phantoms have skulls, they're ghosts!" Mikey says contemptuously.

"Well," Frank thinks for a moment. "Their bodies have skulls, like, in their graves."

“Dead skulls. Genius. We absolutely didn’t make a concept album about that already.”

"Let go of the skulls, Frankie," Gerard says, in the exaggeratedly patient voice he saves for overtired children and Frank.

"Yeah, move with the times," Ray says. "Speaking of moving, Gee, this time can we have pants that actually fit? During the hiatus I got used to having a blood supply to both balls."

Gerard flaps a dismissive hand. "I'm still working on our look. But look."

He plops the sketchbook down on the table and they all lean forward to look.

"I like that," Mikey says, poking one of the sketches. "Very Aleister Crowley."

"I know, right? You remember the tarot cards off the dead letterbox?" Gerard flips forward several pages. "This is them, refined to the essentials. I was talking to Grant about sigils, and he has some awesome ideas about magical intent. I want to work that in with what we were discussing earlier. "

Mikey is nodding. "That's rad."

"I guess we're done with futuristic" Ray says sadly, obviously still thinking about the giant robots.

"It's cool, but it needs more skulls," Frank says, and Mikey beans him in the head with a paper cup.

*****  
Being Frank, he can't leave the matter there, not with the wheels of the juggernaut now in motion and picking up pace towards new music, a new sound, a new look.

He starts subtle, tweeting pictures of himself in a Misfits shirt, then a Halloween mask.

milk friend @gerardway  
Love the mask. Vast improvement.

Mikey Way @mikeyway  
I bet you haven't washed that shirt since World Contamination tour

Ray Toro @raytoro  
More like armpit contamination

***  
Subtle isn't generally his schtick though, so when that doesn't get much of a reaction he moves on to the next idea.

Gerard's skeleton onesie has long since been lost to posterity but there's an amazing selection available online. Frank spends a happy afternoon picking out onesies for everyone's kids and mailing them off. There's even tiny baby size ones to go to Mikey and Kristen, and Frank has to hide them from Jamia in case she gets any ideas about more kids.

[ ](https://imgur.com/8GNtAL1)

***

_*Beeep*  
Hi Frankie, it's Lindsey here. Just wanted to say thank you for the onesie, she was so excited that Uncle Frank bought her something special that she's been wearing it all week. I think I may need a crowbar to get it off her long enough to wash it._

_Oh, incidentally, if you ever use my kid as a tool in your inter-band squabbles again I will fly over there and gut you with my own bare hands. Are we clear? Good. Give my love to Jamia and the kids, and we'll see you soon._

***

Frank calculates the distance between LA and New Jersey, and decides this is an empty threat. Probably. Just in case, he decides to ease off on the child propaganda and try a new tack.

He decides to take a leaf out of Mikey's book, and go for subliminal persuasion. Unfortunately it's kind of hard to whisper in anyone's ear when they're not all sleeping together in a haunted mansion, and it appears none of his bandmates ever check their voicemail. Fortunately, he's not just limited to hassling them.

***

From: Brian Schechter(b.schechter@...)  
To: geeway (artistheweapon@...) Ray Toro (torosaurus@..) Frank (boozey@...) Mikeyway (mikeyfnway@...)  
Hey, anyone else been getting weird voicemails? Picked up three messages all of someone whispering some shit about skeletons.

From: Mikey (mikeyfnway@...)  
To: Bri (b.schechter@...)  
Ignore its Frnk bein a dick.

From: Brian Schechter (b.schechter@...)  
To: Mikeyway (mikeyfnway@...)  
Oh God, I'm having flashbacks to Warped Tour.  
Fair warning, if you and Gerard are planning to give up showering again I'm out of here so fucking fast you'll need more than a Ouija board to call me back.

From: Mikey (mikeyfnway@...)  
To: Gee (artistheweapon@...)  
cc: Lyndz (lynzoid@...)  
ur meeting Brian Monday right? FFS remember to wash b4hand. We don't need a repeat of the Great Underpants Standoff 2004

From: Gerard (artistheweapon@...)  
To: Mikes (mikeyfnway@...)  
Seriously, you copied in my wife? Not cool, Mikes

***  
Brian's voicemail goes on for about five minutes, and Frank turns it off once he starts repeating himself. It's nowhere near as scary as Lindsey's, anyway, but it does give him a little warm bubble of nostalgia. Having Brian threaten to beat him to death with a mic stand feels comfortingly familiar. It occurs to Frank at this point that he's not even entirely sure when this became so important to him. It's not the first time an idea has been brushed off by Gerard and the others, and he knows he's done it to them enough. Witness poor Ray and his unfulfilled mecha fantasy.

But still. They're at the stage of planning video teasers now, and every time he looks at the storyboards, he knows, he just knows there's something missing.

After two days of him moping round the house, Jamia finally snaps.

"For fucks sake Frankie, just phone Gerard already. If it's that big a deal, you need to say so out loud. Otherwise they're just gonna think you're being an asshole." She pauses and considers this. "More of an asshole than usual, I mean."

And he's going to. Honest. But first there's the small matter of a tour with the Future Violents, and as usual, once he's on the road he forgets about anything other than the next show, whether his voice is holding out and how long he can eke out his supply of clean socks.

It's not until they hit Buenos Aires that it comes back to him. He's found a local artist to hook him up with some ink, and when he walks into the shop it's like a hit to the gut.

He'd been half debating another scorpion, this time with the correct number of legs. But the moment he sees that cowled skull staring out of the page, he knows it's going home with him.

It's simple, clean black work, like everything Ignacio does, and Frank loves it. He barely twitches as he's inked up; he's too enthralled by the visions in his head

[ ](https://imgur.com/ba2q2mm)

He snaps a pic when he's done for Instagram and within five minutes he sees Gee has liked it. Fuck, fuck, this is happening.

Gerard is shit at working out time zones, so Frank's not too surprised to have a couple of missed calls when he comes off stage. He about to call back when his phone buzzes with an incoming videocall.

"Frankie?"

The reception is terrible and Gerard looks like he's sat in a cave that is somehow also in a snowstorm. But it's great to see him, and Frank beams in response. "Yeah, I'm here."

"You want to talk about this skulls thing, huh?"

"I think we should, yeah," Frank says.

Gerard's image on the phone screen flickers wildly, but Frank can see he's rubbing his eyes. It must be about 4am there. Even for Gee, that's kind of late.

"Maybe not now though," he amends. "You look like shit."

"I love you too," Gerard responds dryly. "Okay, when?"

"We could Skype?"

"On site?" Gerard's not wearing his fucking hearing aid, Frank realises. He raises his voice.

"No dude, Skype!"

"What? You're breaking up Frankie."

He sees Gerard poke at the screen, mouthing something, then the connection dies entirely and Frank can't get it back. Typical. He's just about to give up and go to bed when a WhatsApp message comes in.

_Got cut off. Where the hell were you, the Marianas trench?  
Come see me after tour and we'll talk in person xoxo g_

Frank grins at his phone and sends a squid pic in response, which Gerard will take either as a yes or encouragement to start a meme war. Either is good with him.

[ ](https://imgur.com/s1hfVrc)

By the time he lands back in New Jersey he has a folder full of SpongeBob memes (Mikey, Ray and for some reason Pete Wentz have all joined in and his phone storage is full), and tickets to LA.

LA is just as weird as ever - probably more so now that both Way brothers live there. He's not remotely surprised that Mikey is there to greet him when he finally arrives, sweaty, jetlagged and wondering if he's just being humoured by his bandmates.

They don't talk about the reunion that night. Instead Ray comes over with pizza and they spend the whole evening having a glorious session of 'do you remember', until they're all weak with laughter and any pretence of being respectable, responsible adults and family men has completely evaporated. Frank passes out on the spare bed in Gerard's study, and sleeps like the dead.

The next morning they drive out of the city and into the desert, up past the ranch where they filmed Danger Days and out into the wild roads beyond. It’s the first time Frank’s been up there since they wrapped up on set, way back in 2010, and for once he doesn’t have much to say, just sits and looks out the window at the rocks and the sky, remembering.

Gerard keeps going until they’re about to run out of asphalt, then pulls over.

“Wanna take a walk?”

They hike up away from the road to the top of the rise, and Frank’s knees tell him he’s way too old for this shit. Gerard moves more easily, but he’s out of breath by the time they hit the top, and his first deep breath gets him coughing up a lung.

“We’re gonna die on stage,” he rasps as he flops down in the dust. “I can see it now. Three bars into Sorrows and I’m gonna have a heart attack or drown in my own sweat.”

Frank sits down beside him, having first checked for things with too many legs. “Some of us have actually been touring,” he says primly. “Some of us haven’t spent the last two years sat on our asses eating Cheetos and watching the royalties roll in.”

“No, some of us spent the last year forgetting how to communicate like an actual human being,” Gerard says. “Seriously, dude, on what planet was it easier to get your vision inked into your skin than pick up the phone and have a conversation about it?”

It’s a fair point. “Since about 2003?” Basically everything from the scorpion onwards has been a little bit of his heart painted on his flesh, a visual reminder of what was important and when.

“Can I see it?”

Taking off his pants in the middle of the desert would not be even close to the weirdest thing Frank’s done this week, but it’s still kind of cold, so he just drops them to his knees and turns his leg out so Gerard can look.

Gerard studies the skull intently, even tracing the outlines with his fingers, like he’s locking it into his memory. “Did it hurt?”

He’s asked that about every tattoo Frank’s had, and Frank gives the same answer every time. “It was a bunch of needles going through my skin, Gee, what do you think?”

Gerard shudders dramatically, but he’s smiling now, tracing the eyeless stare of the skull one last time before pulling back. “I think you’re insane Frankie. Now tell me about it.”

So Frank does, but he pulls his pants back up first.

****

It’s about a zillion degrees in the shade, and Frank is sweating like a pig in his ridiculous get up, while his asshole band mates sit around in shorts and t-shirts. Mikey even has sandals on, which is just rubbing salt into the wound.

All three of them (four, counting Brian) are looking smug. Frank supposes he can’t blame them. He has been a bit of a dick over this, and he’s not really surprised that they found a way to get back at him. Besides, he’d totally do the same in their shoes. At least with three out of four on the wagon, they’re all sat with sodas rather than taunting him with beer.

“Can we get makeup before we do another take?” the director asks, and someone comes forward with the black pan-stick. Frank’s learnt to dread the sight of it; he’s going to be tasting greasepaint for a week after this. He tilts up the mask and lets her paint in the spots where he’s sweated it off, then takes his place.

His lungs feel like they’re going to burst as he runs up the hill for the third time, jumping over roots and ducking branches, all while trying not to trip over the hem of his cloak. He’s done that twice already, and he could hear the others laughing. Fuckers.

But when they take a break to film another scene Ray brings him a ginger ale, fresh out of the cooler, with a straw so he can sip it without fucking up his makeup. Gerard fans him with a spare copy of the risk assessment, and Mikey scratches his back when he asks, and doesn’t complain about him being sweaty and gross. Brian just sits there and laughs at them all.

“You’re so fucking co-dependent I wonder how you managed a whole 6 years apart.”

And Frank looks at his friends, his brothers, and is inclined to agree.


End file.
